could a body close the mind out, stitch a seam across the eye? [open]

[fleshing]

Who: Krieg and YOU - let me know if you want a closed starter!
What: The Dreamwalker event
Where: In the space between sleeping and waking
When: May 16th - 26th
Warnings: This is Krieg we're talking about, so I'm slapping a big ol' cw for gore, blood, torture, medical experimentation, disturbing imagery, surreal horror, dissociation, weird formatting, and pretentious, poorly-coded html.

fear; night of may 16th

no, no listen, please, i'm not -

split the sternum
cut through flesh like scissors to paper
skin like ribbons
slippery with wet and red that streaks every surface
glint of silver wedged in your heart
thick bright purple poured into the unmarred spots
screaming

( what an intriguing reaction )

( yes that wouldn't have been my hypothesis )

look away girl please
pulling the slippery liver-colored bags of guts out
insides slopped over the sides like snakes
glistening wetly like a sheen of oil
she screamed when you looked at her
cut upwards even clean slice
sarcoline wetness drenching the back
spine opened like a flower
delicious madder poured out from the cracks
licked lips and laughed
pumping slag into veins
your brain is a firing squad
arch back
howl
excise your mercy
hollow out your skull
laugh and laugh and cut them apart
this is your life now

you're such a monstrous thing

rage; night of may 18th

loose straps this time
no scalpels in your chest no ribs snapping
muzzled with a mask you thing you nightmare you beast
they want a beast do they
they want a monster
they want a freak
oh we'll give them one
rip yellow straps off
stand up
scream
don't hold back
tool on the table shaped like a saw
lift up
snap into labcoated skull
splits like overripe melon
gray matter unraveling
cut
again
         again
                  AGAIN
                          MAKE
                                   THEM
                               PAY
         YOU
    MADE US
            LIKE THIS
YOU
BUILT US
        TO BE THIS
    YOU
  CUT US
            THIS WAY
THIS IS
        YOUR FAULT
    YOUR FAULT
YOUR FAULT

hope; night of may 21st

voices voices voices and the pathetic beast meanders along the dust-strewn planetface butchering and slaughtering and murdering whatever he finds
axe still stained with gore when the train nearly plows over us and he lands and looks up and he sees her

we see herthe siren warrior
blue tattoo and maliwan smg and standing there like a ray of ultramarine sun

( she can't save us )but maybe she can
maybe we can save her
and maybe
that will be enough.

Comments

rage; night of the 18th

[liquid_serpent]

[Liquid could do nothing but watch as Krieg unleashed his rage, slicing into his victim with the saw. Blood, lots of blood. The blond wasn't phased by this, as he'd seen death. He'd been a child soldier and he'd killed men in his lifetime. Yet, seeing his friend like this with others. So much rage. It almost pained Liquid to see this. He wanted to reach out and stop him. It didn't have to be like this.

The blond inched closer, not daring to step into Krieg's path. He didn't wish to be sliced up too.]

Krieg! Stop! You don't have to do this!

[fleshing]

[Cut and cut and cut and cut - because he'll make them all pay, slag runoff still spattering the shining clean silver of the walls, he'll tear this place apart and he'll do it with a song in his heart.

Grind the cartilage.

Split the marrow.

Carve the flesh.

Krieg throws back his head and laughs. Don't have to do this. He has no idea. No idea at all.]

IT'S THEIR FAULT!

[He keeps hacking, buzz-axe buried in the face of the scientist that's long since stopped screaming and struggling, reduced to little more than a pulpy reddened mass. He punctuates each word with another slice, bringing the blade down again and again and again and again and ]

HOW - DO - YOU - LIKE - ME - NOW?

[liquid_serpent]

[Liquid wasn't used to seeing such carnage on a scale such as this. He had shot men, seen them bleed but this? It was like a wild animal let loose. Pure rage and anger. The blond took a step back but held his ground. He wasn't sure what state of mind Krieg was in right now. All he did know was that the man was unstable right now and he had to try and calm him somehow.]

He's dead, Krieg. They're all dead. You killed them. Yes, it's their fault and you have every right to be angry but calm down. Lower your axe. I'm not here to hurt you.

[Liquid had one hand inside his jacket, ready to pull his FAMAS rifle out if need be. Just in case Kreig attacked him. There was so much blood.]

[fleshing]

WHAT ABOUT THE REST?

[He wrenches the sawblade from those remains, stumbles back. Hand to head. Apply vicious pressure to temples, the burgeoning ache there swelling like a drill through the skull.]

THEY MADE THIS.

[He thumps a clenched fist into his chest furiously, trembling. They made this. They made this. Shouldn't they taste the fruits of their glorious labor?]

[liquid_serpent]

[It seemed Liquid was seeing Krieg's pain through his own eyes. The bastards that experimented on him were now dead covered in their own blood. They had caused Krieg pain. Experimented on him when he was still awake. It was totally sick and Liquid swallowed hard.]

They deserved to die. Yet, there are good people out there among the bad. You're a good person, Krieg. I know you. Forget about these bastards who are now dead on the floor bathed in their own blood. They are nothing.

[Could he even hear the blond? Could he hear reason over his rage?]

[fleshing]

[They made this. They made a righteous, torn-up freak and eviscerated him and tore the parts of his brain out and cut him into pieces. He'll cut them into pieces. We will. Make them pay for what they did to us. Make them all burn.]

Good?

[He advances. Blade goes crashing into the wall, cast aside. Gore-spattered, bloodshot-eyes, seething, trembling - he's a good person? He's a good person?]

What good. What? What?!

[He practically snarls like something caged.]

THEY TOOK IT ALL OUT.

[liquid_serpent]

[Liquid knew this would be difficult. He remembered when he had met Krieg for the first time back in the arena fighting the monster chests. He had just wanted to smash the chests and spill guts over them both. Now, it seemed Krieg was enraged even more, since he was back where he was first abused. It was hard to watch. Liquid felt his friend's anger, yet he didn't want to feed more fuel to the fire.]

You are good, Krieg. I know you now. We're friends you and I? Do you remember? We fought together and you showed me you can be better than what these people have made you into.

[Would he see it through the haze of hatred and rage?]

hope;

[watashinonamaewa]

She's there as the train passes.

Her body feels strange. Her head feels light. Like she isn't really there at all.

He's on the other side of the tracks when the train is gone.

She sees the woman as he sees her.

"Krieg?" Even her voice feels weird. "Who is she?"

[fleshing]

The train roars past in a drone of metal and rumbling energy, and then it's gone again. The blue tattoo stands there, thus far oblivious to the presence of the Psycho staring at her like she's his only salvation.

Someone's nearby. He can't tear his eyes away from her, the Siren, the Vault Hunter, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, but he answers automatically, quietly, almost reverently. Completely and utterly spellbound.

"Siren." His voice is hoarse. "She makes it all hurt less."

[watashinonamaewa]

Then Cibo stares too. The woman is captivating and it makes her heart race and her thoughts slow. She breaks the trance to focus briefly on the rails. If she can get closer, she'll get a better look at the woman they see. One foot over the first piece of metal track. Then over the second.

When she looks up she's still on the opposite side. Behind her isn't the set of rails that she just stepped over, only the ones in front of her that she is about to step over. It feels normal to be trapped on the other side of another's dream. Whatever that means. She doesn't really think about it.

Maybe she'll be able to cross if he just looks at her. Then she'll see what he sees. Feel what he feels. Want what he wants.

"Krieg?"

[fleshing]

He stretches his fingers out, like that'll be enough to brush at her, even if they're separated by yards of empty space.

Then the Siren turns, and sees him.

And just like always, she opens fire.

For the second time, Krieg dives out of the way to escape the hail of shock bullets with a low groan of despair. It always goes like this. He always has to save her, convince her, because otherwise he's just a broken monster like every other broken monster on Pandora. He's not special. When has he ever been special.

[watashinonamaewa]

Cibo's first instinct is to run forward. Fast.

Each step she takes over the tracks lands her right back at the same spot, never any closer to what's happening. She recognizes that she can cross the first rail. She's stands on the wooden planks now. At least it's even two feet closer than she was before. Not enough to help him.

She runs down the track, closer to the Siren. If she could only get to her. Get the Siren's attention as if she weren't programmed to perform this scene over and over in Krieg's head. She can't though. Cibo can't stop the woman without crossing the next rail.

She moves to be closer to Krieg. Keeping on the track with a foot on that second rail, reaching for him.

"Krieg!"

[fleshing]

Tell her we're a friend.

Tell her we're here to help.

For god's sake, SAY SOMETHING.

Krieg throws himself flat on the ground, landing heavily in the dust, and breaks from his frantic fight or flight mode briefly to throw his head back and yowl:

"Stop screaming!"

And then, alarmingly, incredibly, he realizes something is off. There's a new variable. There's a third party. There's never a third party. Where did she come from - why is she here.

He stares at her, for a long moment unable to say anything, comprehensible or otherwise, until the harsh report of more gunfire jars him back to the less-than-real moment.

"Who invited you?"

fear -> hope, 1/2 (lmk if this works!)

[cashlin]

[Spilled blood, flesh torn free from body, the sickening wet sound of innards spilled. It was largely meaningless. Lilith was a killer herself, and the elements alone were nothing to her: all part and parcel of the job, the daily grind (of bone on bone, of joints snapped clean).

This was not that in the least.

This was pain, visceral, real. Every face was obscured, even the dreamer's, but every bit of sensation passed onto her through whatever dream-empathy she possessed. And it was all excruciating. This was déjà vu at its most horrifying, every inch of skin on her body crawling every muscle screaming as their fibers snap-ripped under silver scalpels, sharp-bladed scissors. The tattoos marking her a Siren prickled, hundreds of pins driven into the swirling blue design, each stroke of blue flashing yellow-white-blue-white-yellow as she felt it all.

She didn't know what slag was. The thick purple liquid, pumped through his (her) swollen veins, his (her) ragged body, was wrong, wrong, so very very wrong.

On the night of the 16th, she woke in the dead of night with a scream.]

HOPE... 2/2

[cashlin]

[Days later, the nightmare reduced to a half-forgotten, vague sensation of wrong, she dreams again. There's a bizarre feeling to the dream that's the same as the nightmare. Not the fear, nor the pain, however: something like a wavelength, perhaps. And the dusty world around her is, unmistakably, Pandora. But... there was never a train here.]

Whoa![Suddenly Krieg's diving forward and out of the way of the train. Lilith scrambles back so he doesn't quite dive into her, but he's bulky enough that when he lands, the ground moves, and she slips.

Her gaze lifts when Krieg's does; her eyes blink, dumbfounded, awe-struck, as his do. (A Siren. She's beautiful, powerful, effortless; Lilith simply feels Maya's sameness, knows immediately that they are alike. Her jaw drops. She can't find her words.) She turns their way-- Krieg's way, really, Lilith knows instinctively that the other Siren cannot see her-- and stares at him across the blazing desert expanse.

What the hell? Is that a Psycho?
she cant save us.

And everything slides neatly into place. The blood, the slag, the scientists. Krieg getting to his feet and looking up to this other Siren, longing, hoping.] Krieg-- [Lilith hops to her feet and sputters, ten thoughts trying to verbalize themselves all at once.] You're-- she's--

[Sheeeeee's shooting at them. Awesome.] Bullets, Krieg!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

[fleshing]

[She's the only thing that can save us. Maybe, maybe, maybe it's too much, maybe it's a shot in the dark, but if anything could give something like him hope, if anything could pull him out from this pit that he's been stuck in for days or weeks or months or years, it would be her. A Siren, nigh-godlike, touched by maybe-Eridians, surely capable to looking at the monster and seeing the man beneath...?

And then there's the stutter of Maliwan gunfire.

Or not.

Because suddenly he's playing the bullet-dodging game.]

She thinks we're bad!

[He wails, disconsolate. The fabric of his dreams is always the same, he has no reason to suspect just yet, what's been happening in the city, too caught up in not getting a premature end thanks to a well-placed bullet.]

[cashlin]

We're Sirens, not psychics!

[A bullet sails through the air and flies true, passing straight through Lilith's arm-- but unlike the last time, she doesn't feel a thing. It's as if, to Maya, she's not even solidly there. Wouldn't she have reacted to her? To one of her five sisters, spread so thinly through the galaxy?]

You're not bad. You were never bad! [She ducks a bullet, even if it would've never hit its mark.]

Try to say something to her, Krieg! Not about poop trains!

[fleshing]

[Two Sirens, facing one another like the stories they would say about the legendary Vault Hunters and the Destroyer and the other lady - he can't remember her name, but she was full of power and forged together the Vault Key and his brain is too cluttered and he can't remember.

Siren. She could kill him, here and now. Turn him inside-out with some kind of extradimensional energy, or something worse. But she's just opening ruthless fire on him, and the other one stands here, immobile and invulnerable, telling him to say something.

Yes, sings the voice in his skull, rife with relief and anger and exasperation, say something. Make her hear us, the real us.

Krieg clenches his eyes shut. Searches his brain. And comes up...mostly empty.]

BUT SANTA ISN'T REAL!

[...wow. Great job.]

[cashlin]

[Steele, Lilith can't correct him: in the midst of the otherworldly, inexplicable pressure the charged key and the entrance to the Vault had radiated, she'd felt the same as she does now. Five minutes too late to mention it to the Commandant, unfortunately.

And speaking of unfortunate.]

Well, that... That definitely wasn't about poop trains. [It's progress enough that she knows he's actually listening, but not enough to communicate with the woman currently trying to pepper dozens of holes into Krieg. If she were this other Siren, another Vault Hunter, to be sure, she'd keep at it until he was dead.

She turns to him again.] Tell her you're a friend. You're not going to fight her.

Fear

[notjustinthemirror]

[ He doesn't know what's happening. There's screaming and laughing and a smell he can't identify. Somewhere beyond the iron smell of blood, the fetid stench of wounds left too long, there's something else. Hot and coppery and if he could he knows he'd be retching.

On top of it all off he has no idea where he is. Medicinal. Hospital. But it seems wrong. The way the hospital looked when the Oro caused Ethan to hallucinate. And that hadn't ended well. There's someone strapped to a table; the source of the screaming and growling and rabid frenzied howling. ]

You don't look so hot.

[fleshing]

[Ha...ha...

He's empty now. Or something close to it. Bereft, hollowed-out, eyes rolling to stare at the ceiling, nostrils filled with the bite of antiseptic and eyes watering with the sterile, blazing white of the walls.

Same as always.

The someone who draws near is clad in neither the white of a labcoat nor the yellow of Hyperion personnel. He grinds out, growls out, growing increasingly agitated as he jerks against the restraints that cut deep, deep, deep into his wrists with every pull and tear.]

Get us out.

[notjustinthemirror]

[ He stands there for a moment, debating, realizing he's likely to be attacked by whats on the table if he lets him go. But this place is wrong. Reminds him of the Oro. The Demon doesn't remember anything before he just started existing, but he's flesh stretched over metal and gore, a construct created by a cult to serve a purpose. It just hadn't gone the way they wanted.

He'd probably been in this exact situation before.]

What is that smell?

[He starts at his ankles, unbinding him from the table one restraint at a time, backing up as soon as Krieg is free. Just in case.]

[fleshing]

Slag.

[Spits the hated word out like a curse. Cringes, lips curling back in a snarl. He rolls from the table as soon as he's able, lands heavily on the ground. He's uncoordinated. That's what happens when people stab him with needles of things and slit him open and cut him apart for -

Well. He doesn't know how long it's been. It doesn't matter.]

Get out, get out! They'll kill us next!

[notjustinthemirror]

[ He's about to ask what Slag is, stops himself, he doesn't want to know. It's putrid enough that he doesn't want to delve too far into how it's made or why they seemed to be pumping it into this guy.

Instead he watches as this giant of a man rights himself after staggering. The Demon doesn't seem to have the same sense of urgency. Because he's not the one whos been strapped to a table.]

You look like a man in need of a weapon.

[ He'll help. Have a baseball bat Krieg. Manifested out of nowhere. ]

[fleshing]

[Gotta get out. Gotta shred them all whole, but first - first he has to make sure he gets out with his skin intact. Can't go ripping them all to pieces without getting out first. Has to make sure. Has to make sure.

He peers at the bat hazily with one red-rimmed eye, the latticework of bloodshot veins cobwebbing all around the white. Not a lot of heft, considerably less of a blade than he'd like, but it'll do in a pinch. He accepts it with a grunt of assent and marks an unerring line for the nearest door.]

We're going! We're going or they'll hunt us next!

[The door doesn't open. He yanks again, harder, but still, it doesn't budge.]